


Coming Undone

by Never_Says_Die



Category: Walking Dead, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Never_Says_Die/pseuds/Never_Says_Die
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a prompt on The Walking Dead Kink Meme: Merle returns, even more insane and thirsty for revenge than before.  Everyone else is smart enough to stay the hell out of his way, but Daryl follows when Merle demands they strike out on their own.  Things go downhill from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The knife was three feet away from him and it might as well have been three miles.

He stared at it with dull eyes, just lying there in the dirt. The serrated edge glinted in the sunlight, winking at him, laughing at him. He blinked sluggishly as more blood trickled into his eyes, streaming down his face to mix with the gritty dust underneath his cheek. He needed to move...had to get up. 

It was important that he get up. He needed to...there was something he had to do. It was just so hard to think. He head ached like it never had before, stabbing pain pulsing through him in time to his racing heartbeat. He was panting shallowly, and the shattered, grinding sensation with each breath told him at least a couple ribs were broken. 

His sight blurred again, an alarming darkness licking at the edges and he grit his teeth, struggling to focus. Goddamn he hurt. He just wanted to lay his head down, give into the darkness and just sleep. There was something, though--something pushing insistently at the edge of his consciousness and demanding he _move_. He blinked again, trying to clear the blood from his eyes. The knife, he had to...to get to the knife. Experimentally, he pushed himself forward, hitching along on his belly, hindered by his hands bound behind his back. Instantly, pain screamed through his body, radiating from his left leg in a wave of red-hot agony. A broken, ragged sound tore out of him, almost too guttural to even be called a moan. He had to move, though...had to. 

The thunder of his pulse in his ears was drowning everything else out, giving the world around him a strange, muffled quality. His vision doubled, then tripled and he _needed_ to move. There was--something terrible was going to happen if he didn't move. He shuffled a couple of inches before his legs just gave out. He was so damn tired. 

But he couldn't stop. Why--why couldn't he stop?

Something drifted across his senses, an acrid stench that stung his eyes and throat. Smoke? Something was on fire. The realization hit him, forcing some of the haziness from his mind. Clarity returned, his awareness sharpening, and now he could hear the crackle of flames, feel the heat against his skin, too close to be safe. 

He could hear the screams. 

Someone was screaming, high and loud and terrified. Other voices were raised in angry, desperate shouts and he could hear a rhythmic, hollow thumping sound. The voices...he knew those voices. He knew those voices and they were afraid. Pleading. Frantic. 

The thought sent a pulse of pure rage rocketing through him and he renewed his efforts, pushing himself forward through the dirt. The knife winked at him, closer than before and his whole awareness narrowed to it's sharpened edge. He had to get to it...had to. 

They were going to die if he didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI...this story acknowledges the deaths of Dale and Sophia, but veers into AU territory on a few things. First off, it was a big dust up with Randall's group that drove them from the farm, not a giant herd of Walkers. Secondly, Shane survived. Thirdly, Beth didn't. None of those facts are going to be major, major parts of this story, so I'm not re-writing it to make it completely canon compliant.

_Three Days Earlier_

They had been on the road for a week and were no closer to picking a destination than they had been when they started out.

They had barely survived a massive confrontation with that little bastard Randall's group and when the smoke cleared they'd lost Jimmy,   
Patricia, and Beth. They'd nearly lost Shane (not that he particularly thought that'd be a great loss) and the man was still convalescing in the RV, fighting off a severe concussion and waiting for Hershel to pronounce his leg healed enough to take the stitches out. No one had gotten away without at least some minor injury. Truthfully, the smart thing would've been to hunker down and wait for their wounds to heal, to come up with a solid game plan. No one wanted to just strike out. 

But they couldn't stay at the farm anymore. 

They couldn't keep on at the place where they had lost Sophia and Dale, where Maggie and Hershel were surrounded by the ghosts of their entire family. The peace and relative safety of the farm had been shattered and there was no choice but to move on. Didn't mean it particularly sat right with any of them. Still, they had gathered their belongings and packed up the vehicles. No one had raised a protest when Rick exited the house and quietly informed them that Hershel and Maggie would be coming with them. Whatever bad blood had existed between Hershel and the group, no one was going to deny having _any_ kind of medical expert along would be useful...and looking at Glenn and Maggie curled around each other, no one had the heart to even suggest that Hershel and his daughter not be allowed to join them. 

A week. A week since they'd put the Greene farm in their rearview mirrors. He'd brought up the rear going out, and though he'd never admit it out loud, he'd kept his eyes trained on the little cemetery they were leaving behind, watching Sophia's grave, the old man's grave, watching the crude wooden crosses that were the only markers they would ever have get smaller and smaller in the bike's mirror, until the dust their caravan kicked up swallowed even that sight. 

Then he'd gunned the engine and peeled out around the RV, leaving it and the other cars far enough behind for long enough that he was pretty sure most of them had thought he'd finally left for good. He knew he wasn't mistaking the looks of relief on Rick and Carol's faces when he'd finally allowed the caravan to catch up and flagged Rick's car down to tell him he'd scouted out a decent campsite for the night. Nor did he miss the way Carol relaxed when they piled out of the vehicles in an old KOA campground he'd found and he announced he'd already put down the two Walkers in the front office and there didn't seem to be any others. Or the pleased, hopeful looks the chinam--Glenn, Andrea, and God help him, even Maggie had shot him when he'd shouldered his crossbow and announced he was going to see if he could scare up a couple of squirrels or some rabbits before the sun set. 

Goddamn it, he didn't _want_ this.

He didn't want to watch people relax their guard just because he assured them it was safe. He didn't want people to depend on him for fresh food, for their eyes to light up when he strode back into the light of the campfire with game dangling from his belt. He didn't want to automatically find himself ranging farther in order to find enough game for everyone to eat their fill, didn't want the warm flush of pride in his gut when they greeted him with relief and thanks when he was successful...especially didn't want the cold gnaw of guilt when he came back empty-handed. 

He didn't want to watch Andrea's eyes get red and glassy as she stroked Dale's name stenciled on the side of the RV and silently curse himself for not running just a little faster that night. He didn't want to see Glenn trail his hand forlornly over the cover of one of the old man's godawful books and feel the instinct well up to say something to try and distract the kid. 

He watched them all walk around with broken, defeated eyes and hated that it mattered to him. He snapped awake at night with Dale's pleading, pain-filled eyes dancing in his head and the man's impassioned insistence that "you're a decent man!" echoing in his ears and hated that on those nights, he rarely got back to sleep. He hated that he looked up at the sky some days and found himself trying to calculate how much meat they would have to preserve to get the group through the winter. He watched Shane out of the corner of his eye and worried about what a goddamn ticking time bomb that situation was because he didn't want Carol to get caught in the crossfire. Or Andrea. Or Glenn. Or goddamn Lori Grimes and Carl. Rick came to him with maps and suggestions and ideas and wanted his opinion. _His_.

These people were supposed to be moving targets he could run faster than if they ever got swarmed by Walkers. Not people he gave a damn about. Not people who looked to him for protection. Advice. Safety. Yet somehow, he'd found himself in that position and he hated it. Didn't want it...none of it! 

He very firmly ignored the little voice in his head that wondered just why the hell he was protesting so fucking much. 

They had been on the road for a week and they were no closer to picking a destination than when they started out. He was no closer to figuring out what the hell he was going to do. He could feel the pressure of the group's changing perception of him, of Carol's expectations, of Rick's slowly more confident reliance on him, tightening around him like a noose. 

He pushed an overhanging branch out of his way with a sigh, resolving to push such issues out of his head for now. He'd sighted a nice, fat doe earlier that morning and he was damn well determined to drag her back to camp. They'd be able to eat on that deer for several days and his mouth was watering at the thought of something other than stewed squirrel and canned peaches in his stomach. His determination had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that they'd miraculously discovered a couple boxes of Hungry Jack instant potatoes in a previously looted convenience store they'd stopped at yesterday and he'd overheard Glenn, Andrea, and T-Dog talking longingly about steak dinners. He'd fucking kill for a plate of steak and potatoes himself, so.... He spat on the ground, glaring at the scat trail he was following as though it had done him injury. 

Goddamn people and their goddamn complications. These people weren't his kin. He needed to stop letting them get under his skin. 

So wrapped up was he in his thoughts that it took him a moment to register that the quiet background noise of birds and other woodland creatures had fallen silent. Instantly, he tensed, unslinging his crossbow from his shoulder and checking with one hand to make sure the fastening was open on his knife sheath. He flattened himself against the rough bark of a thick tree, eyes tracking restlessly through the underbrush. He didn't hear the careless, shambling noise of a Walker crashing through the trees and bushes...but the first hunting lesson his Pa had ever drilled into him was to listen to the forest. If it was quiet, something was wrong. 

He quieted his breathing, and went ahead and loaded the crossbow, keeping his eyes on his surroundings as he pulled back the string and locked the bolt into place. Only when he was locked and loaded did he take his back away from the tree, creeping back out onto the deer trail he'd been following. He stepped lightly, heavy boots making barely a whisper of sound in the leaves and grass that carpeted the forest floor. His ears strained for the slightest sound of whatever had spooked the birds. Finally...he heard it. 

It was the barest rustle of leaves from a few feet behind him and to his left. Just a tiny sound...but the wind was still and an animal or a Walker would've made more noise. His shoulders tensed, and he moved a few more feet ahead, trying to give himself as much room as possible to reload...or take off running if whatever or whoever was following him had brought friends. He made a few quick calculations in his head---and whipped around, weapon aimed squarely at where he figured his unseen stalker had to be. 

"Best come out where I can see ya'!" he growled, and hoped like hell it was Glenn or Carl being stupid and he hadn't just invited a hostile party or a craftier-than-usual Walker to come out and get him. 

A tall stand of scraggly bushes rustled, right where he'd figured. The branches slowly parted and a figure stepped out onto the deer trail in front of him. He damn near dropped his crossbow, stumbling back in blind shock. 

"Hell, little brother...I didn't know any better I'd think you weren't happy ta' see me," Merle said amicably, mouth stretched into a slightly crazed grin.


	3. Chapter 3

He lowered his crossbow immediately, letting it dangle from suddenly nerveless fingers by his leg. He took a few stumbling steps backward, just staring dumbly at the man in front of him. Goddamn... _goddamn_ , he'd told Rick. He'd told Rick, but he honestly wasn't sure he'd believed it himself. 

Merle's grin widened. "Well c'mon, son! Ain't you got nothin' ta' say to ole' Merle?"

The words, in that same rough and tumble tone that he'd known all his life, broke his paralysis. "Merle...goddamn, you sonuvabitch!" he laughed, and strode forward, wrapping his free arm around his brother and pounding his back. Merle ruffled his hair as the separated, like he used to when they were kids. He couldn't stop grinning, unable to believe this was really happening. 

Here was his brother...thinner than he'd ever seen him, but dressed in the beat up old biker vest he'd owned for the past ten years and _alive_. The stock of a shotgun was visible over his shoulder, strapped to his back, and somewhere along the way, he'd picked up a new sheath for his buck knife. Merle's skin had achieved the cracked, baked in brown of leather left out in the sun, and a new scar scored the left side of his face from temple to chin, the edges thick and bunched as though it had been stitched together poorly. Abruptly, memory crashed over him like a bucket of ice being dumped down his back. 

Almost all on their own, his eyes tracked down the length of Merle's right arm...where it ended just at his wrist. The stump was wrapped in what looked like a couple of faded bandanas, knotted into place and held with one of Merle's old studded, leather wrist cuffs. Merle's eyes followed his down to the ruin of his arm, and his grin took on a odd, frozen quality. 

"Sure coulda used yer backup that day, little brother," Merle said quietly. 

"I came lookin' for ya'. Soon as Rick told me what they done, I went after ya'," he replied instantly. "You was...you was already gone."

"Well hell, how was I s'posed to know that? Damn nigger left me for dead." Merle's voice hardened, a light entering his eyes that had never meant anything good. "So...Rick, is it? He that pig? You still runnin' with them, boy?"

He stepped back from his brother, narrowing his eyes slightly. "I didn't know where the hell ta' even start lookin' for ya'! Couldn't stay in the city--I thought ya' might try ta' make your way back ta' camp." He looked away, his voice lowering. "Walkers swarmed the quarry--most everyone died. There weren't--weren't no way ta' stay on there. They needed m--" he caught himself, clenching his teeth slightly. No sense in rilin' Merle up. "It was safer ta' stick with the group. Lot happened since you been gone, bro."

Merle looked him up and down. "Yeah," he said vaguely, "yeah I see that."

He held Merle's gaze for a moment, before dropping his eyes and scratching briefly at his temple. He jutted his chin forward, squaring his shoulders. Merle raised an eyebrow, before seeming to nod to himself. He was still smiling that strange smile, and Daryl couldn't help but feel that he should be reading something in the expression. He pushed the thought aside, though. His brother was alive...alive, and here after being on his own for who knew how long, making his way through the Walker-infested countryside with only one hand! He was entitled to a little strangeness, far as Daryl was concerned. Merle was _here_...why the hell was he sweating details?

Merle abruptly looked around, huffing out a small sigh. "Sun's goin' down, soon...I been staked out in a gas station 'bout five mile up the road. Where you at?"

"We's camped about two miles that way." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the clearing they were currently camped out in. "You're...you gonna come back with me?" 

Merle tilted his head slightly. "Well I ain't headin' back t'that damn gas station! I got a truck stashed on the access road ta' the highway--we can go get it tomorrow."

Daryl felt a grin struggling to stretch across his mouth, but he couldn't let himself celebrate just yet. There was still the matter of how Merle had gotten left behind in the first place to deal with. He'd never admit it out loud, but knowing Rick the way he did now, and knowing just how wild his brother could get, he was pretty sure that Merle hadn't left Rick any other choice. He'd made his peace with it, and he'd moved on. Merle, though... He gnawed on the inside of his lip for a moment before making a short, sharp gesture towards the bandaged stump. 

"There gonna be problems 'bout that?" he asked bluntly. Merle looked down at his arm, turning the stump over so that the buckle on the wrist cuff caught the late afternoon sun. When Merle looked up again, there was a flash of something in his eyes--but it might have been a trick of the light. Merle moved forward, reaching up with his remaining hand to grip the back of his neck. 

"Oh, I'm plenty pissed about _that_...but I ain't lookin' for revenge, if that's what yer worried about. Long as the nigger an' the pig stay outta my face, I'll stay outta theirs." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Daryl's. "Tonight, what say I just catch up with my baby brother, huh?" They stood like that for a moment, before Merle squeezed his neck and released him. Daryl nodded once, relaxing slightly. He shook his head, pulling his crossbow up to sling it across his back. He clapped his brother on the shoulder and turned to strike out back for the camp, the deer he'd been stalking completely forgotten. 

He'd curse himself later for also forgetting that Merle had never in their lives had a problem with lying to him.

The walk back to the camp was mostly silent. They tramped along, Merle slightly to his left and behind him. It was odd...unless they were hunting, he was used to his brother keeping up a running commentary--dirty jokes, rundowns of his latest conquests, charged rants about the uselessness of cops and how the blacks on the other side of town were being allowed to run roughshod over 'decent folk.' Even after the outbreak, after they'd fallen in with the quarry camp and there was nothing much to talk about beyond what chores needed doing and where they might lay some snares, Merle found shit to run his mouth over. 

Truth was, it was making him a little uncomfortable. In the past, when Merle got quiet, it usually ended with him bailing his brother out of jail...or sitting right there in the cell next to him. Immediately, he tried to banish the feeling. What the hell was he thinking? He'd found his brother again--against all odds, Merle had survived. His only blood, his only kin. Merle was back, and things would be like they had before. 

Why didn't that thought make him happier?

He'd...he'd _missed_ Merle, damn it! His whole damn life, his brother had been the only thing that was even remotely a constant. Their mama had fucked off somewhere when he was barely out of diapers. Their pa had been just as likely to take a swing at him as look at him. Merle hadn't exactly been a loving and stable influence, but he'd given a damn whether Daryl lived or died. He'd made sure Daryl had dinner every night and shoved him off to school most days. In between stints in juvie (and later, prison), he'd toughened Daryl up, taught him how to fend for himself. Merle was family. 

But...but. 

He huffed out a sigh, pulling up short. He turned back to find his brother watching him curiously. "Listen...been a rough couple weeks for the group. We lost a lot a' people. Just...I don't want ya' rilin' anyone up, hear? Specially the women. We--Carol...the one with that fatass husband tried to square up to ya' when we first got t'the quarry? She just lost her little girl. Got...she got bit." Ruthlessly, he ignored the little stab he always felt when he thought of Sophia. "We didn't find her 'til she'd already turned. I won't have ya' upsettin' Carol."

Merle stared at him a moment, his eyes gone hard and flat. For a brief instant, Daryl felt like he was ten years old again, an eighteen-year-old Merle looming over him with an angry sneer on his face. _'Don't ya' think you can sass me, boy!'_ The moment passed quickly, though, and the hardness faded from his brother's pale eyes. "Well, ain't this a sight. Here I'm the one's been on his own all this time, an' you're worryin' about me upsettin' the group what left me ta' die? That how it is, Daryl?" 

Despite himself, he shifted uncomfortably. "Man c'mon, you know I don't mean it like that. Just askin' ya' to think before ya' say anything ta' Carol. Andrea, too. She had ta' put down her sister after the quarry got swarmed."

"She that blonde bitch went into Atlanta that day?"

Wordlessly, he nodded, choosing not to get into a fight over Merle calling Andrea names. It surprised him, how much it bothered him to hear his brother say such things about Andrea. It wasn't like he hadn't thought and said the exact same thing at times. Merle sucked on his teeth a moment, then spit in the dirt by his boots. "Well, shame about the sister. She was a pretty little thing. So damn, then...how many ya' down to in your group?"

"Huh? There's eleven of us travelin' together. Nine from the quarry--picked up two more along the way."

"Eleven...big group. Good ya' have that many eyes watchin' out. Must be a bitch keepin' everyone fed an' armed."

"We do all right. Runnin' low on ammo," he indicated the homemade bolts in the quiver of his crossbow, "but that ain't nothin' new. Why ya' ask?"

Merle shrugged casually. "Always pays ta' know the lay a' the land, little brother. But Carol, now. You shackin' up with her, bro? Givin' her a little...southern comfort?" He grinned nastily, twitching his hips in an obscene gesture. Daryl rolled his eyes, relaxing a little. This was more like the Merle he remembered. 

"Naw, man, ain't like that. Just...look, they done right by me, okay? Ain't got no cause to be stirrin' the pot. Specially with these big-ass herds a' Walkers roamin' around."

Merle regarded him silently for a moment, before visibly relaxing his stance. He grinned a little, narrowing his eyes as he stepped forward and reached up to pat Daryl on the cheek--more of a swat, really, just hard enough to sting. Daryl snorted and pushed the hand away, stepping out of his brother's reach. "Aw, hell, Daryl...you gonna be such a damn woman about it, I promise I'll be just as sweet as honey. I'll be as polite as I was to ole' Pastor Martin back home. Feel better?"

"Man, you stole the pastor's car after ya' fucked his daughter in her parents' bed," Daryl snorted. But he knew that was all he was likely to get from Merle. He turned around and started walking again. There was still that niggling doubt in the back of his mind...Merle--there was something that felt off about his brother. He pushed it aside, though. Merle was back. He had his family back...how many people got a second chance like that in this world? He'd make it work. He'd been smoothing things over between his brother and other people since he was twelve years old. It wasn't anything new. Everything would be fine. 

He talked himself into believing that...and tried not to think too hard about why he was having to talk himself into it in the first place. 

It only took them about half an hour to walk back to the small clearing where the group had decided to set down stakes for a few days. The vehicles were all lined up along one edge of it, facing the road. The tents had been clustered together around a single firepit. They'd taken to only unpacking the bare minimum they needed and dividing the rest of the supplies evenly amongst the cars and RV in case they had to make a quick getaway. Hell, it had gotten to the point that he, T-Dog, and Glenn didn't even bother to break out their tents unless it looked like rain. 

Lord if anyone had ever told him that someday he'd actually find it kind of peaceful, laying out under the stars with a ni--a black man and an Asian, just shooting the shit and sharing cigarettes between them (well, him and T-Dog...Glenn had tried it once and just about hacked a lung up while he and T-Dog nearly pissed themselves laughing), he'd have probably punched them in the face. 

He'd have to lay his gear out somewhere else tonight. Promise to play nice or not, Merle would blow his top if he realized how friendly he was with T-Dog and Glenn. 

He slowed down slightly as he finally spotted the RV through the foliage. Merle followed his line of sight, clapping him roughly on one shoulder. "Hell, that ole' coot still with y'all?"

"No," he replied quietly. "Walker got Dale 'bout a week and a half ago." He ducked his head and resumed his walking, refusing to get lost in memories of the old man's screams, the sickening smell of blood and _other_ things that had told him organs and bowels had been torn into. He missed the narrow, evaluating look his brother shot him at the use of Dale's name. 

Daryl felt himself hunching his shoulders as he broke the treeline, eyes automatically searching out who was where in camp. He spotted T-Dog on top of the RV, keeping watch, and breathed a silent sigh of relief that he would not immediately be confronted with having to act as a buffer between his brother and the man who had ultimately been responsible for Merle getting left behind. 

Carol, Lori, and Maggie were hanging wet clothes to dry on a line they had strung between the ladder of the RV and a nearby tree. He saw one of his own shirts dangling from Carol's hands and realized the woman must've gone through his pack to gather up his dirty things. When had that stopped being something that infuriated him? Glenn, Andrea, and Carl Grimes were huddled around the fire, talking quietly while Andrea and Glenn took turns stirring something in their biggest pot hanging over the fire. He couldn't see Rick or Hershel anywhere and presumed they were in the RV checking on Shane. Glenn looked up at his approach, a smile already spreading over his features. 

Daryl could see it the moment the kid realized he wasn't alone. The smile froze on his face...slowly fading in shock, amazement--and wariness. Slowly, still staring at Merle, he elbowed Andrea in the side. It was like watching a set of dominoes fall. Andrea looked up from the contents of the pot. Her eyes went wide, jaw falling. "Oh my God," she said, her voice carrying. Instantly, Lori, Maggie, and Carol ducked out from behind the laundry, Maggie's hand going to the pistol she kept tucked in the back of her jeans these days. Lori went white, even as Carol's hands flew to her mouth. Maggie drew her weapon, but kept it pointed downwards in the face of no one else diving for their guns. 

"Aw hell...Rick!" T-Dog stomped hard on the roof of the RV, prompting Rick to come barreling out the side door, gun drawn. The man stumbled to a halt as he realized there were no Walkers attacking. Daryl sighed heavily, shifting the crossbow to hang over his shoulder. They were all just staring, various expressions of shock, confusion, and wariness on their faces. Even Maggie, who had no idea what was going on, was taking her cue from Glenn and staring at Merle suspiciously. 

Merle took a few steps forward, coming up to stand beside him. He laughed, loudly and without much humor, draping one arm around Daryl's neck. 

"Well...ain't this just a fine little reunion?"

* * * 

 

The atmosphere around the campfire was thick enough to cut with a knife. 

They were all huddled close--nightfall was bringing a chill with it these days. It didn't escape his notice that everyone was giving his brother (and him, by extension, as he was sitting next to Merle) wide berth. The only sounds were the scraping of utensils on plates as they all ate the remains of a thick rabbit stew Carol had made up the day before. The others were shooting him and his brother furtive, shifty looks, struggling not to stare at the bandaged stump at the end of Merle's arm It was starting to set his teeth on edge. 

Lori had taken Carl to eat in the RV, ostensibly to 'keep Shane company'. Rick had looked torn, but ultimately made no protest. That rankled more than the quiet, more that the fleeting glances. So Rick was fine with his wife and son being alone with Shane "don't mind me, I'm just having a psychotic break over here" Walsh, but didn't want them anywhere near his brother while everyone else was there too?

His _one-handed_ brother?

Merle was taking great delight in the others' discomfort. He was being subtle about it, seemingly entirely focused on the plate awkwardly balanced on his lap as he ate. Daryl knew better. He could see it in the occasional twitch of his brother's mouth, the way Merle's eyes would slyly dart over everyone's faces. 

After the third 'significant' look someone shot Rick, he lost his patience. "Y'all got somethin' to say, how 'bout ya' say it?" he growled out, setting his plate aside and resting his hands on his bent knees. He snorted when everyone seemed to find the stew suddenly fascinating, glancing between their plates and Rick. Only Carol was still watching him, her eyes steady, calm, and full of the concern that always left a knot forming in his gut. 

Rick finished the mouthful he was chewing, taking a deep breath and setting his own plate aside. "All right," he said slowly. He laced his fingers together, eyes focusing on Merle. "Merle, there aren't words for what happened to you. I own that. I wish like hell it'd gone differently...but I did all I could think to do to protect the group. I know it don't mean much to you, but I'm sorry it went down like that. I'd like the chance to start over. Your brother's been an _invaluable_ member of this group--" here, Rick's eyes found Daryl's, intensity practically radiating out of the blue depths, "and Lord knows, the only safety we've got these days is in numbers. Long as you're willing to play by the rules, you're welcome to stay on with us." A couple of heads shot up at that, but Rick was just watching him and his brother steadily. 

Daryl nodded to Rick gravely over the fire, well aware that Rick was sticking his neck out with the group a bit with the offer. He darted a glance over at his brother. 

Merle was watching the group on the other side of the fire, rubbing his chin in a mockingly thoughtful gesture. "Huh. Now, that's a right pretty speech, _officer_. 'Nough ta' bring tears t'the eye." Merle leaned forward intently, an unpleasant smile Daryl was intimately familiar with twisting his face. "But I'm sure you'll understand if your words don't mean shit ta' me."

Andrea bristled. "Now just a minute--"

"Don't rightly recall askin' for your input there, missy," Merle interrupted without missing a beat. He held up his bandaged stump. "There ain't no _startin' over_ from this. I came ta' collect my brother an' my property. Far as I'm concerned, y'all can burn in hell. Daryl n' me are leavin' in the mornin'."

Daryl's head snapped up at that, his eyes widening. "Whoa...Merle, man, you never said anything 'bout leavin'!" he protested. 

"What the hell?"

"Dude, you can't leave!"

"Daryl, what's he talking about?!"

The others' voices rose in a cacophony of distress and outrage. Carol looked like she might start crying any moment, and Glenn was just staring at him in shock. 

"Hey!" Merle's shout drowned the all out. He sneered at them, before turning his attention on Daryl. "Somethin' you wanna say, boy?" There was a warning in his eyes and in his tone, one Daryl was all too familiar with. He knew what his brother was doing. He'd pulled this trick on him so many times in the past, forcing him into making a stand with or against his brother in front of witnesses. He'd never been tempted to go against. 

They were all staring at him. Watching him, waiting to see what he would do. He knew what they wanted him to do. He could feel the pressure of their combined gazes like a firebrand on his skin...and never, never had he had a reason to consider going against Merle. No one had ever made him question his place at Merle's back. He knew what they wanted him to say. 

But Merle was his kin, his blood. His only family. He owed Merle everything. He hadn't been there to back his brother up in Atlanta, had failed to get there in time to prevent his brother from having to maim himself. Didn't he owe Merle this? He stared at his brother, unable to get the words to form in his throat. Hadn't...hadn't he just been thinking about how complicated his life had gotten since he'd fallen in with this group (ravening hordes of walking corpses aside)? Hadn't he just been thinking that their expectations of him, their dependence on him, was choking him? 

But...that didn't mean he wanted to leave. 

"Daryl!" Merle barked, and he blinked, dropping his eyes. Seemingly satisfied with that action in lieu of an answer, Merle rose from the fire. "Gonna go look my bike over. You been tearin' that clutch up again, you n' me are gonna have words, son." He shot one more sneer, full of angry triumph, at Rick and stalked off towards the vehicles. 

There was dead silence for a moment, before Glenn hesitantly broke it. "You're not...Daryl, you can't leave us," he said softly, sounding genuinely upset at the notion. 

"Why, 'fraid no one else'll be able to keep the supplies up?" he shot back meanly, automatically, his tone nasty and caustic in a way it hadn't been towards the young man since the CDC. Glenn reeled back for a moment, and Maggie instantly curled her hand around his bicep. The kid just stared at him for a moment, before sighing heavily. 

"Whatever," he muttered, ducking his head down and wrapping one arm around Maggie's shoulders. 

"Daryl--" Rick began, but Daryl was in no mood for one of the man's speeches. 

"Look, I'll talk to 'im. He ain't...he ain't thinkin' straight."

"There's a shocker," Andrea mumbled darkly. He glared at her over the flames before abruptly shooting to his feet. 

"Look, go talk to him," Rick said placatingly, "I'll take your watch shift tonight. Get things straightened out. Okay?"

He bit his lip and looked over to where he brother was going through the saddlebags on the bike. Yeah...talk to Merle. 

Because _that_ always worked so well. 

He left the others still sitting around the fire and headed over to where the vehicles were parked. Merle was still pawing through the saddlebags on the bike, his face twisted in irritation. He slipped the strap of the crossbow into a more comfortable position across his chest and shoved his hands into his pockets, just watching his brother. 

“Still got some a’ your clothes and stuff in my bag,” he said finally, jerking his chin at the trunk of the Honda. 

“Got plenty a’ that back at m’camp. Where’s my other stuff?” Merle demanded, and he knew immediately what his brother was talking about. 

“We used up the medicine. Kid got shot, an’ T—other people got hurt. Tossed the rest,” he said evenly. Immediately, Merle’s eyes narrowed.

“Boy, you best be jokin’.” 

“What was I gonna carry it around for? It was takin’ up room, and you know I ain’t ever been into that shit.”

Merle bristled, hunching his shoulders forward threateningly, but eventually seemed to think the better of it, and wiped his hand over his face. “Whatever. Lucky I don’t kick your ass for that.” 

He snorted, scuffing the toe of his boot into the dirt. “The hell was that about back there? You didn’t say nothin’ ‘bout leavin’,” he asked finally. Merle gave a brief, bitter chuckle.

“You really think I wanna hang around these fucks? I can’t afford ta’ lose no more body parts.”

“They ain’t like that!” he protested before he could think about it. Instantly, Merle’s expression hardened, that same oddly flat, frozen light entering his eyes. He pressed his lips into a thin line and tried a different track. “It’s safer in a group…you forget what it was like ‘fore we hit the quarry? I don’t think I slept more n’ two hours that whole week!” 

Merle licked his lips, staring at him intently as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. “We been gettin’ along on our own for years. We don’t _need_ anyone else, little brother. Never have.” His brother stepped closer to him, still staring intently. “I understand why ya’ stuck with ‘em. I ain’t mad about it…but I’m back now. Just you n’ me, Daryl. S’how it’s s’posed ta’ be.” 

“Damn it, Merle, they’re my--“ 

“They’re your what?” Merle interrupted harshly. “Your _friends_? You think they’d give two flyin’ fucks ‘bout you if you wasn’t useful to ‘em? They ain’t your friends. You don’t have _friends_ , boy. All you got’s your kin…and that’s me.” 

He rocked back on his heels, swallowing hard. He hadn’t even realized he was going to say it until the words were almost out of his mouth. He’d never felt so torn, so confused. The thought of actually leaving, of picking up and leaving the group behind, of never knowing what happened to them, if they made it or not--it stirred something unpleasant in his chest. 

He didn’t--he hated the way they looked to him, now. He did. But leaving…that didn’t sit right with him, either. 

“Look, can’t ya’ just give it a couple days?”

Merle snorted derisively. “Just what you think’s gonna happen in a couple days? What you think your buddy _Rick Grimes_ got ta’ say ta’ me that I wanna hear?”

“Jesus, Merle, he’s a good guy! An’ you know how you get when you’re—“

Merle’s hand came down on his shoulder like a vise, gripping the juncture right where it met his neck hard enough to hurt. “Listen to ya’,” Merle hissed, low and dangerous. “You defendin’ these bastards to _me_. Look what they done ta’ me, Daryl!” He let go, leaving a throbbing imprint where his hand had been, and jerked the clumsily wrapped bandanas off the ruin of his hand.

The stump was a mangled lump of flesh, thick with angry, red ropes of scar tissue. There were chunks and divots torn out of the end, where the cauterized flesh had torn away with the metal he’d pressed against the wound. It looked like his brother’s arm had been jammed into a meat-grinder and then been left to heal, badly. He swallowed thickly, nausea roiling in his stomach at the sight of the wound, but couldn’t look away.

“They done this. They done this ta’ me. Your own brother, your own blood. How can ya’ want to stay with ‘em?” 

He grit his teeth and searched for an answer that would salvage this situation. 

He had a sinking feeling though, that there was none.


	4. Chapter 4

He left Merle to go through his bags, separating out the items that belonged to his brother from his own. He dragged his bedroll and tent out of the back of the Honda, tossing them onto the ground for Merle to set up wherever he pleased. Hell, Merle had been able to set up their heavy-duty hunting tent blind, stumbling drunk and high as a kite...one-handed shouldn't be a problem. 

He swallowed heavily as he walked back towards the fire pit, his steps light and nearly soundless through force of habit. He knew the others would be ready to descend on him as soon as they realized he was done talking to Merle. He just--he needed a minute. 

Was he really going to leave?

A month ago, this wouldn't even have been a question. He'd have followed his brother without a second thought, left the group that had abandoned his brother in Atlanta in his dust and never looked back. Now, though? Was he really going to get on his bike and drive away from them? After everything they had been through? After the CDC...after the farm...after he'd risked his neck for T-Dog on that godforsaken highway? After he'd damn near killed himself trying to find Sophia? 

After...after he'd taken the burden of ending Dale's suffering from Rick? 

After he'd spent nights on watch just sitting in comfortable silence with Andrea, or talking and joking quietly with T-Dog and Glenn?

After Carol had kissed his cheek and told him he was every bit as good as Rick Grimes?

His head was spinning with questions and conflicting emotions, and he wearily reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He liked to think of himself as a pretty simple man (though nowhere near simplis _tic_ , whatever anyone else thought) and he was unused to feeling so hesitant. There shouldn't have been a question in his mind. Merle refused to stay on with the group and wanted them to take their chances on their own. Staying with the group would mean turning his back on his brother. How could he be dithering about this?

He slowed as he crossed the final few feet towards the fire pit. Rick, Carol, Andrea, and Glenn were still grouped around the fire. T-Dog had taken up his position on top of the RV again, and he could see Hershel and Maggie talking quietly by the tent she was sharing with Andrea until they could find her her own (or until Glenn finally got the balls up to ask her to come and stay in his permanently). Lori and Carl had not reappeared after dinner. 

"Rick, you've gotta do something!" he heard Glenn hiss just as he came within earshot. Frowning, he stopped short. Rick sighed softly, rubbing his face with his hands. 

"I know, I know...but what can we do? Daryl's his own man. Besides, anyone here really want to try and _force_ him to do anything?" Rick let out a soft, humorless huff of laughter. "I don't see that goin' anywhere fast."

"Well we can't just let him go off with Merle!" Glenn countered, his voice nearly cracking. He felt a slow simmer of anger start coiling in his belly. _Let_ him? Nobody _let_ him do anything...he wasn't some kid to be nursemaided!

"Glenn, I don't like it any better than you, but of its what Daryl wants--" Andrea started, but Glenn whirled on her furiously. 

"No!" he hissed. "You can't just--it's like Merle has him brainwashed! He's not thinking straight...you know he's not!"

The slow simmer bloomed into a full, roiling boil and he strode forward. He was grimy satisfied to see the four of them jump guiltily at the sound of his footsteps. "Y'all maybe wanna say somethin' ta' my face?" he growled. 

He glared balefully at the four of them, refusing to back down when Carol flinched. "Well?" he demanded. "You ain't got a problem yammerin' about how I don't know my own mind when I ain't here!"

"No one said that," Rick started, but he cut the man off with a scoff. Andrea was shifting uneasily, unable to quite meet his eyes, and Glenn was gnawing on his lip. 

"Ya' don't know what you're talkin' about," he muttered sullenly, kicking a spray of dirt into the fire. Glenn ducked his head, twisting his hands nervously into the hem of his shirt before looking up at him defiantly.

"So you talked him into staying, then?" the kid asked. 

He didn't answer, couldn't. He huffed to himself, dropping down to sit in one of the empty lawn chairs they had dragged around the fire and pulling the crossbow into his lap. Glenn held his gaze for a moment, before dropping his eyes to his hands. 

"Do you _want_ to leave?" he asked, in a small voice. Jesus, the kid looked like someone had just kicked his puppy. 

"It ain't...I don't...look, it's complicated," he said finally, fresh irritation surging through him. His hands began to dance across the crossbow's workings, making unnecessary tweaks and adjustments in order to have something for his hands to do. When he realized what he was doing, it just made him angrier. Goddamnit they were all just looking at him, like they thought it should be easy for him, like they couldn't understand why he was hesitating. The frustration over his own misgivings mixed with his anger at them talking like Merle was just _using_ him, just wanted to control him, snowballing into a riot of fury that left him feeling vaguely sick. 

Especially since there was a tiny part of him quietly pointing out that they might have a point. 

He couldn't take it, and so he fell back on the only method he'd ever learned for dealing with his emotions...he lashed out.

"Why you even give a fuck?!" he demanded, pinning Glenn with his most vicious glare. "What I do an' where I go ain't any a' your damn business!" In the past, Glenn had quailed at his temper, avoiding confrontation with him at all costs. He was surprised, then, when this time Glenn shot to his feet. 

"Because you're my friend!" he shouted. "You don't get to pretend you're not just because you think it'll piss your brother off! You can yell at me all you want, and call me every name in the book, but don't you dare pretend you don't know we're worried because we care about you...we deserve better than that. You're my friend, Daryl, and if you go with him then _I can't watch my friend's back anymore_!" He was practically shaking by the time he finished his tirade, fists clenched by his sides. The kid threw a glare at him every inch as venemous as anything he'd ever mustered and stomped off towards Maggie and Andrea's tent. 

Andrea sighed softly as she, too, stood and started for her tent. She didn't speak to him as she passed, just reached down and squeezed his shoulder lightly. She didn't have to say anything--he could read her agreement with Glenn in every line of her body. He was left alone with Rick and Carol. 

They were quiet for several long moments, and the crackle of the slowly dying campfire was the only sound. He stared at the flames, well aware that both Rick and Carol were watching him intently, but unable to meet their eyes. Finally, though, he couldn't take the pregnant silence anymore. "Say your piece, Rick...I know ya' want to," he sighed.

Rick shifted in his seat slightly, the lightweight aluminum frame creaking softly. "Look, Daryl...all I know about your brother is what happened on that roof. I realize I'm not exactly an impartial witness, here, but...none of this seems a little off to you?"

He tilted his head slightly. "What you mean?" he asked warily. He had a feeling he wasn't going to like anything that was about to come out of Rick's mouth.

The other man sat forward slightly, lowering his voice. "I mean--look, this is a hell of a coincidence is all I'm saying. How far back into the woods were you? And Merle just _happens_ to show up in the same place? What're the odds of that?"

He set his jaw, forcibly reining in his temper. Rick had done right by him time and again, he reminded himself, and the man had earned his respect a hundred times over. Even so, he couldn't let the insinuation slide. "What, ya' mean like you just happened ta' show up at the camp where your wife an' kid were? What're the odds a' that?"

Rick sat back in his chair, forced to concede the point. The wariness in the man's eyes didn't lessen, though. "Daryl...just please think about this, okay? Apart from the fact that none of us wants to lose another friend...how much backup is Merle really gonna be with only one hand? It's not just you, _he'd_ be safer with us." Rick waited for him to answer, but when none was forthcoming, his shoulder slumped a little. He ran his hand over his stubbled cheeks before getting up. Rick nodded to him silently, and whispered a soft good night to Carol before heading towards the RV. 

Only when it was just him and Carol did he let the crossbow slide to the ground so that he could lean forward and rest his elbows on his knees. He let his head hang down, chin nearly touching his chest as he rubbed his temples tiredly. He heard Carol stand up, heard the whisper-soft sound of her footfalls as she moved around to his side of the firepit. The lawn chair beside him creaked as she sat down, but she didn't try to talk to him. He dropped his hands to rest on his knees, but didn't look up from the ground. 

"I don't," he said slowly, unwillingly. It felt like the words were being dragged up out of him, catching in his throat like a fish trying to escape the inexorable pull of a hook. But Carol always seemed to have that effect on him...making him say things, do things, _feel_ things that he'd never wanted to before. 

"Don't what?" she asked mildly, as if she already knew the answer. She probably did. 

"I don't want ta' leave." He heard Carol swallow softly, felt the fleeting warmth of her hand as it hovered over his before it nervously retreated.

"Then don't," she said, her voice suspiciously thick. He knew of he looked up he'd see the gleam of tears in her eyes.

_"I can't lose you, too..._

_"You're my friend, Daryl, and if you go with him then_ I can't watch my friend's back anymore _!"_

 _"You don't have_ friends _, boy! All you got's your kin...an' that's me._ "

"I don't want ta' leave...but he's m'blood. My family." And in the world he had grown up in, blood was the be-all and end-all. Family was all you had, and blood backed blood no matter what. 

Even if you thought maybe...just maybe your blood was in the wrong. 

He grit his teeth as the decision crystallized inside of him. It didn't matter how he felt, or what he thought. It didn't matter if Rick was suspicious and Glenn was upset. Blood trumped all. Kin was all that mattered in the world. That was one ironclad, immutable law he had been raised with, the one he had never dared to violate. 

Even if it would hurt like hell to leave the group behind. 

He bit his lip and looked up at Carol. She must have read his choice in his eyes, for she rocked back in her chair slightly. The gleam of tears in her eyes grew brighter, a few drops spilling over to slide down her cheeks and God, he hadn't wanted to make her cry. Not over _him_. 

"Carol--" he started, but she just shook her head, stilling any words he might have said. She leapt up out of her chair and began walking towards her tent, arms wrapped tightly around her middle. 

He sat by the fire all night, poking aimlessly at the embers with a stick. Carol must have told someone about his decision--or they had discerned it when they saw Carol get up from beside him and rush to her tent, crying. At one point or another, they all drifted by the fire to sit a spell as they came off their watch shifts or got ready to go to sleep. Andrea, T-Dog, Glenn, Lori and Rick...even Maggie and Hershel stopped briefly. They didn't try to talk to him, for which he was grateful, just sat quietly and watch him stir the embers. 

It might have been kind of nice if it hadn't felt like a goddamn _wake_. 

Merle didn't call him over to the tent, didn't join him by the fire. He could feel his brother's eyes on him throughout the evening, though, his gaze as heavy as a stone pressing down on the back of his neck. He ignored it, though he knew Merle was expecting him to leave the fire and the quiet companionship of the group. They would be leaving in the morning...he'd have all the time in the world to talk to his brother. He'd likely never see these people again. 

He didn't think too hard about what that said. 

The barest hint of gray was starting to creep over the horizon when he finally threw the stick down on top of the barely-glowing embers. He set down a few more twigs and tinder over the coals, to be sure there was something to work with for whoever got up first to start breakfast. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, before walking over to the RV and whistling softly to get Glenn's attention. The kid glanced down from his perch, shifting the shotgun in his lap slightly. 

"'M headin' into th'woods for a bit. Be back in a couple hours," he called softly. Glenn rose from the lawn chair situated on the RV's roof. 

"Is that a good idea? I mean, what if--" he broke off, shooting a speaking glance at the tent where Merle was sleeping. He shrugged one shoulder. 

"Merle ain't gonna be up for a while yet." He had always been the one to rise with the dawn, even when they were young. Even the goddamn apocalypse had not changed that particular trait of Merle's, and he doubted very seriously things had altered in the time they had been separated. "Tell Rick, okay?" He turned and walked away without waiting for an answer, hefting the crossbow onto his shoulder. 

There was barely enough light to see by, mist clinging to the ground like a shroud as the air slowly started to heat up. Nonetheless, he strode confidently through the brush and deeper into the woods, his footsteps nearly silent. He'd scouted the area pretty thoroughly the day before, and he knew exactly where he was going. 

The clearing was a little under a mile away from the campsite. It was where he'd picked up the doe's trail the day before...but he was hoping for much more than a trail this time. He hadn't found the place until the sun was already high in the sky yesterday, but he had an idea that the clearing would be prime hunting territory in the dawn hours. He slowed his pace as he approached the clearing's edge, silencing even the light tread of his footsteps. He crouched low, careful to keep himself downwind and slowly, painstakingly, edged himself up next to the thick trunk of a tree. He pressed himself close to the rough bark, raising the crossbow as he slowly peeked around the tree's edge. 

 

He smiled grimly, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of the small herd of deer grazing in the early dawn light. Several does and at least four or five young bucks. He ran his eyes over them critically, checking to see which had the most meat on its bones, which was within distance that he might be able to take it down with a single shot. He finally settled on one of the slightly larger bucks. It was wandering farther away from the herd, nibbling contentedly on the grass in the clearing. It was turned so that it presented its whole side to him, and he bit his lip as he took careful aim. 

The twang of the arrow releasing was loud enough to startle the animals, who took off running as a group towards the opposite side of the clearing. He didn't bother trying to take another shot. The arrow sailed cleanly, beautifully through the air, nailing the buck right in the skull. It stumbled briefly, the body taking a few faltering steps before it realized properly that it was dead. It collapsed finally, falling to the ground with a heavy groan, where it lay twitching through its death throes. He allowed himself a grin of satisfaction, sliding the crossbow into its customary place on his back as he rose from his crouch and stepped into the clearing. 

It was a perfect shot, absolutely perfect. He yanked the arrow out efficiently, a short bark of humorless laughter escaping him at the thought of how much better he was with the crossbow since his life had literally started depending on his skill with a weapon. He crouched down by the buck, eyes roaming over the body. It was a good size...not so large that he wouldn't be able to haul it back to camp himself, but not so small that they wouldn't be able to get several good meals out of it. 

He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and pulled his knife out of the sheath at his belt. Field dressing was a hell of a lot more difficult when there was no way to hang the animal, but he could do it. He set his focus on the labor, on the familiar motions. 

He didn't think about how thrilled everyone might be when he came back with the deer. He didn't think about how this was the best he could do for them, leaving them well-supplied with meat for a few days so they'd have time to adjust to him not being there to supplement their supplies. He didn't think about how it felt like a gift for the group. Felt like goodbye. 

If he thought about it, he might have to admit that it mattered.

The sun was climbing in the sky, burning off the last of the morning fog, before he finished with the buck. It was a hellacious chore to drag the thing back by himself, but he wasn't about to leave it out for some Walker or opportunistic scavenger while he went back to get someone to help. He just set his jaw, wrapped his belt into a loop, and hooked it around the antlers. He threw his back into the work and dragged the dead animal back to camp, nearly a mile through the woods. 

As soon as he broke the treeline, he was greeted by the sight of the entire group--minus Hershel, who was on watch on top of the RV--gathered loosely around the fire pit. Even Shane had dragged himself out of the RV and was sitting in one of the lawn chairs with his injured leg propped up on another chair in front of him. They were all trying to act like they weren't staring warily over at the patch of earth where Merle had pitched the tent the night before. 

Shane and Rick weren't even bothering to try and pretend they weren't watching his brother's every move. 

He blew out a noisy breath of irritation, heaving the buck's carcass a final few feet to lay down by one of the tents. The noise startled a few of them, and they whipped their heads around almost as a unit, Andrea and Glenn going for their guns before they realized it was just him. There was no mistaking the relief on most of the faces. There were even some broad grins as they spotted the deer...but they faded quickly. 

Looking over at where Merle had passed the night, the reason for the somber mood became clear. 

A strange, sinking feeling he didnt really want to identify hit him right in the gut at the sight of Merle leaning casually against the bike. His bedroll and the duffle bag he kept his clothes in were already secured to the small rack at the back, and the saddle bags were clearly already packed. Merle's posture was relaxed, but he could read the irritation in his brother's expression. Clearly, Merle was ready to leave. 

He wasn't...he hadn't expected Merle to want to clear off _immediately_. 

He stood frozen for a bare instant, just staring at the packed up bike. Merle straightened from his slouch, flicking an ugly glare at the group and he rolled his neck from side to side, cracking it audibly. "'Bout time you showed up! We's wastin' daylight," he called. 

His eyes darted dumbly between his brother and the group. Carol was kneeling by the fire, a pan of what look like vegetable soup in her hands. She was clutching the handle so hard her knuckles were stark white. She was staring up at him with what even he couldn't deny was a pleading look, silently begging. Begging for what, he didn't...

No. He knew what she wanted, and there was no point in pretending he didn't. 

"Daryl," Merle said sharply, breaking him out of his thoughts. 

"Hold yer horses," he snapped, shooting his brother a narrow-eyed look. He walked over to the campfire and knelt down by the bucket of water they used every morning for rinsing dishes. "Ya' mind?" he asked Carol, holding up his dirty, bloody hands. Mutely, she shook her head. He plunged his hands into the tepid water, scrubbing the filth from them as best he could...and taking far longer than he needed to. His knife was next, and he could feel Merle's eyes boring into the back of his neck the whole time. He wiped the blade dry on the tail of his shirt, uncomfortably aware of the heavy silence that had descended on the group as he finally rose from the bucket. 

"Look, still gotta take the tent down an' I wanna check the bags. Still gotta butcher up that buck an'--"

"Don't need that tent. Got a better'n where I'm staked out. Got all your shit together, too. Don't ya' worry 'bout that. They can figure out how ta' butcher their own damn meat...we's leavin'," Merle declared firmly. His brother drew himself up to his full height, staring him down. There was no use fighting Merle when he got like this...he'd learned that lesson when he was five years old. He sighed heavily. 

"Fine," he muttered, and the word tasted like ash in his mouth. "You're ridin' bitch." Like hell he was trusting Merle to steer that beast of a bike through a tight spot one-handed. 

Merle snorted, but didn't argue. 

Carol had been watching the two of them silently, but shot to her feet at his words. "For God's sake, isn't anyone going to _say_ anything?" she demanded shrilly. She whirled on him. "Don't do this," she said, her voice cracking. "You don't want to leave us--I know you don't!"

Immediately, Merle's expression went hard, dangerous. "You can just stay right the hell outta this!" he yelled, taking a threatening step forward. 

He didn't even think about it. As soon as Merle moved, he did too, planting himself squarely between Merle and Carol. 

For an instant, Merle was just shocked. His brother stumbled to a halt, even as the rest of the group's men got to their feet. 

"Everyone just calm down!" Rick said authoritatively. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rick take a step towards them, but his eyes were fixed on his brother. Merle was just staring back at him, shock and surprise written across every inch of his craggy, scarred face. The expression melted away almost instantly, though. 

And was replaced by pure, incandescent _rage_. 

It had been years since Merle had looked at him like that, since he'd been the sole focus of his brother's considerable capacity for fury. He refused to back down from it, though, instead straightening his spine and matching Merle's glare with one of his own. 

"Get yer ass on the bike, boy," Merle bit out slowly, his voice ice cold. 

"Daryl," Rick started softly, but he just shook his head. 

"Leave it, Rick," he said. "Go start the bike...I'll be there in a minute," he told his brother, relaxing only slightly when Merle sneered at him before whipping around to stalk back to the bike, ignoring the group completely. 

"Daryl, Jesus..." Glenn whispered as Merle retreated. "Please don't go with him."

"He'll get you killed," Andrea added. Behind him, he heard Carol make a soft noise of distress. A moment later, he felt the delicate pressure of her hand on his back, just at his shoulder blade. A month ago, a few weeks ago, he would have shrugged away from her with a curse and a glare. 

A few weeks ago, he would've done a lot of things differently. 

He wiped his hands over his face, breathing deeply. "He's m'brother," he said tiredly. "Don't y'all get that? He's my _brother_!"

He turned to face them, and was startled at the looks on their faces. Glenn and Carol, he knew they'd be upset. He knew Carol held some strange affection for him, even if he didn't like to acknowledge it most of the time. And the kid...the kid was sentimental like that. 

The others, though...they were staring at him like they...like they--

" _You don't have_ friends _, boy!_ "

He looked away, unable to bear those looks. "That buck'll get ya' through the rest of the week," he mumbled finally. "More if ya' just stew it up with the cans." He glanced up at Glenn. "Ya' remember ta' sharpen the damn knife when ya's done skinnin' it." The kid had been helping him butcher his kills for a couple of weeks now...had actually proved to be a quick study at it once he got over some squeamishness. 

He glanced over at Rick. The man's mouth was pressed into a grim line as he stepped forward, offering his hand. "If you're determined to do this, I guess we can't stop you. You're a good man, Daryl...we'll miss you." 

He wanted to make some smartass remark, but the sincerity in Rick's eyes stopped the words in his throat and all he could do was nodded jerkily, reaching forward to shake the man's hand firmly. 

The others seemed to take that as permission, stepping forward to say goodbye. He stood stiffly, accepting a handshake from T-Dog and Shane's grave nod from his seat. He endured awkward hugs from Andrea, Lori, and (to his surprise) Glenn. Maggie wasn't comfortable enough to hug him, but she offered her own respectful nod and a "take care of yourself" as she slung her arms around Glenn's waist. 

"My tent sleeps two, pretty well. Hell of a lot nicer'n his, if you two ever shack up proper," he couldn't resist saying, jerking his chin at Glenn. It startled a laugh out of the kid, as Maggie blushed prettily. 

He steeled himself, and turned to face Carol. There were tears in her eyes again, and he hated himself a little for it. The woman had cried enough tears for ten lifetimes. She didn't say anything, just stepped forward and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck. She darted in before he had a chance to react, pressing her lips to his cheek in a feather-soft kiss before she buried her head in his shoulder. It was strange to him, just as awkward as Andrea and Lori's embraces had been...but he endured this one, too. And for Carol, he tentatively returned it, wrapping his arms around her waist as lightly as he could as hesitantly patting her back. 

He let go almost as soon as he'd completed the motion, stepping away from her and avoiding her eyes. He heard her swallow heavily, heard the ragged edge to her breath that he knew meant she was crying. He busied himself with adjusting the crossbow's strap across his chest, though, unable to face her tears. 

"Daryl," Rick said quietly. "We're pulling out tomorrow morning, headin' north on the highway. I'm gonna leave markers along our route if we get off the main roads. If...if you change your mind--" he trailed off, a little helplessly, before setting his jaw a bit. "I get why you're doin' this, I do. But I don't think it's the right decision."

He could only shrug, nodding slightly in acknowledgement of Rick's words. He pushed at the crossbow's strap again, needlessly, before he finally raised his eyes to the group again. "Y'all...y'all stay safe," he said gruffly. 

There was no use stalling any further. He turned away from them and walked over to the bike. The engine was already rumbling, Merle sitting astride the very back of the seat. He mounted the bike in front of his brother, and waited for Merle to get a good grip on his belt loops before revving the engine and nudging the kickstand up. 

He didn't look at any of them as he nosed the bike onto the short dirt path that would lead them back up onto the highway. 

But he watched the group in the side mirror as he gunned the engine, watched them get smaller and smaller, until the sight of them was swallowed by the cloud of dust kicked up by the bike.


	5. Chapter 5

He followed the highway Merle had pointed out the day before, waiting for his brother to tap him on the shoulder or otherwise indicate which exit he needed to take to get to the gas station Merle was holed up in. His eyes tracked restlessly over the road as he wove in between abandoned cars and flipped vehicles. This far out of any major city limits, the traffic blockages weren't too bad, but there were a few places where it would be tight going for the RV. He was automatically sketching out a route out in his mind for the lumbering vehicle to get through a particularly nasty knot when it hit him. 

That wasn't his problem, anymore. 

He wasn't up ahead of the group, scouting. He wouldn't be called on to help them navigate the maze of vehicles. He did not have to worry about scoping out a campsite big enough for all of them. A dozen little actions and habits that had become so automatic he didn't even notice he did them anymore were suddenly no longer required. Because he'd left. He'd left the group and it was just him and Merle now. 

The way it was supposed to be, Merle had said.  And here was the thing...Merle's word had been his law and gospel since he was a child.  A skinny, dirty brat, too small for his age and sporting more bruises than skin.  Merle may as well have been _God_ to him. He'd never in his life had cause to question that.  Now though, now...

His hands tightened on the bike's handlebars, eyes narrowing to slits as something in his gut chanted _wrong, wrong, wrong_ with every mile that he put between himself and the group.  There wasn't anything he could do about it, though. Merle wouldn't go back to the group and he couldn't leave his brother.  All told, he drove about fifteen miles before Merle's hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he saw his brother point toward an exit out of the corner of his eye. 

Something ticked in the back of his mind about that, but the thought danced just out of his reach. 

He pulled onto the exit ramp, thankfully free of vehicles, and followed the blue highway signs to a Shell station about half a mile off the exit. The place had clearly not been in business for a long time before the outbreak. The gas pumps were rusted out and missing the hoses. The windows and door of the station itself were boarded over with heavily graffitied plywood, and a faded "For Sale or Lease" sign had been nailed across one of the boards. 

He slowed the bike to a halt, flicking his gaze over the immediate area as Merle dismounted. He could see why his brother had picked this place to hole up...the station sat on a lot that, even overgrown with waist-high weeds, had good line-of-sight in all directions.  One of the plywood boards had been torn down off the station door, and a decent-looking Chevy truck with a camper top in the bed had been parked as close to the opening as possible, pointing out toward the road. Decent set up, but there was something about it that bothered him. 

He snagged his crossbow off the bike's rack, slinging it onto his back with practiced ease, as Merle stalked over to the truck.  His brother pulled the tailgate down and glanced inside, before slamming it again as hard as he could. 

He watched Merle warily, all too familiar with the taut, stiff lines of his brother's back, the way the older man was blowing his breaths out like he'd just run a marathon. Merle was pissed.  He wasn't surprised when Merle suddenly whirled on him, pale eyes practically sparking with anger. 

"The fuck was that back there?" Merle demanded harshly, stomping forward until they were almost nose to nose. He bristled a little, drawing himself up to his full height. 

"The fuck you talkin' 'bout?" he spat back. Merle's eyes went narrow, his lip curling in a sneer that usually meant someone was about to get punched in the throat. 

And hell, it wasn't like he'd thought there wouldn't be any consequences for hesitating when Merle told him they had to leave, for questioning him in front of everyone. The display this morning had only added fuel to the fire.  He was expecting Merle to take a swing at him before the conversation--if you could call it that--was over.  He tilted his head, glaring at his brother just as belligerently as Merle was glaring at him. 

"I _mean_ , where the fuck you get off tryin' ta' side with them assholes over your own family?" Merle asked lowly, dangerously. "That all the respect ya' got after what they did ta' me?"

"Weren't sidin' with no one. I'm here, ain't I?"

"Yeah. You's here. After ya' drug 'em up some big deer like a damn dog lookin' fer a pat on the head. After ya' fell all over 'em like a fuckin' soap opera.  Huggin' on them women, shakin' that nigger's hand like he's somethin'. When you get ta' be such a little bitch, huh?" The words were hissed out, sullen and dripping with rage.  

"Ain't nobody's _bitch_ ," he growled, widening his stance slightly. Merle snorted, a scornful little huff of laughter. 

"Fuckin' lapdog," Merle sneered. "How many a' them ya' think even gonna spare ya' a thought tomorrow beyond missin' you bringin' 'em dinner every night?"

"It ain't...it wasn't like that," he started, hating how defensive he sounded. 

"Still defendin' 'em!  Hell, ya' know what?  Why don't ya' just go on back to 'em, if ya' want to so much?"

He flinched, despite himself, shaking his head.  Merle zeroed in on the motion like a bloodhound scenting its prey. "Uh-huh. Why don't ya' go on, turn yer back on me?"

"Damn it, Merle, ya' know I ain't!" he shouted finally, clenching his fists. Merle regarded him stonily for several moments, before he finally took a step back, ending their little standoff. 

"Damn straight, an' don't you forget it, baby brother. Them fucks? They don't give two shits 'bout you. They hurt us, Daryl. Officer _Grimes_ fucked us over good...sooner ya' get that through your head, sooner we can get back ta' normal."

Merle looked him up and down, sucking on his teeth a moment before  he turned around and stalked back to the truck.  He threw open the passenger side door and started rummaging around in a small cardboard box that was sitting on the seat. Daryl let out a soft breath, before taking one more look around the empty lot. Then he silently raised the kickstand on the bike and walked it over to Merle's vehicle, rolling it to a stop by the tailgate. 

"So what's the plan?" he asked quietly. "You got any idea where ya' wanna head?"

Merle looked up from his task, pulling a crumpled pack of Marlboros from the depths of the box. He watched uncomfortably as his brother awkwardly shook one of the cigarettes out far enough that he could grab it with his teeth.  He dug one out for himself when Merle held the pack out with a questioning tilt of his mouth, recognizing it as the closest thing to a peace offering he was going to get. 

"Been headin' east," Merle muttered, tossing the cigarettes back into the box and digging a lighter out of his pocket.  "Maybe hit the coast, find some place ta' lay low for the winter."

He nodded, catching the lighter when Merle tossed it to him. East was as good a direction as any. They leaned against the side of the truck, standing shoulder to shoulder as they smoked. For a moment, it was just like old times...just him and his brother, shooting the shit and watching the world go by. 

Only the world had ground to a fucking halt.  Nothing was ever gonna be 'just like old times' ever again.

"How'd ya' make it out of Atlanta?" he asked at length.  It was a gamble, bringing up the circumstances that had separated them in the first place, with Merle's shoulders still hunched and tense and his mouth an angry slash...but if there was one thing Merle loved it was bragging about his exploits. 

He wasn't wrong. His brother snorted, this time in amusement, and some of the hardness eased out of his stance. "Same way I got in. Say one thing for that chink...he knew how ta' get around all sneaky like.  Made it down a fire escape an' stuck t'the alleys.  Found myself a van on th'outskirts an' high-tailed it up the highway."

Daryl frowned slightly, taking a deep drag off his smoke. He'd always had a feeling his brother had been the one who took the delivery van that they had driven down to the city in that day. If Merle really had retraced the kid's route out of the city...it must have been him. Something unpleasant shivered through his gut at that thought. How many people might have lived if they hadn't been so late getting to the camp with those guns. 

He didn't particularly care about most of them, beyond a vague regret that they had died the way they did. He sure as hell didn't feel any regret over Carol's bastard husband getting chomped on...that son of a bitch had deserved every second of pain he felt. 

If Merle hadn't stolen the truck, though, maybe Andrea's little sister would still be alive. 

Merle glanced over at him, and evidently mistook the reason for his troubled expression.  He knocked his shoulder into Daryl's companionably. "I know ya' came back for me. Hell, lookin' back I shoulda waited for ya'...know ya' wouldn't a' hung me out ta' dry like they did, little brother. I was in a pretty bad way 'time I made it out a' the city. Don't really remember them first few days, ta' be honest." He looked down at his bandaged stump, turning it this way and that.  "Headed back t'the quarry soon's I came to...y'all was already gone, an' the place was a shambles. Weren't too hard ta' figure out what went down."

"Weren't safe once the Walkers swarmed it. We had ta' move on," he said quietly, wondering why Merle hadn't mentioned going back to the quarry camp the night before. He was broken out of his thoughts when Merle suddenly punched him lightly in the arm, grinning around the quickly dwindling stub of his cigarette. 

"Knew ya'd made it, though. Ain't nobody can kill a Dixon but a Dixon, am I right?"

Daryl's mouth quirked up into an answering grin as he dropped the remains of his cigarette onto the blacktop and ground it out beneath his boot. "Damn straight," he answered. 

Merle slouched further down against the side of the truck.  "Always knew I'd run into ya' again...just a matter a' time.  Weren't even surprised when I saw ya' roamin' 'round them woods yesterday."

He snorted derisively. "Still just as full a' shit as ever."  That strange something ticked in the back of his mind again, though.  There was something...off about his brother's narrative, something that didn't quite fall into place. Unbidden, Rick's words from the night before floated into his consciousness. 

" _How far back into the woods were you? And Merle just_ happens _to show up in the same place?"_

He narrowed his eyes, shaking his head slightly. Rick was just being paranoid. "So we stayin' here tonight, or what?" he asked, glancing behind him at the busted out panel that granted access to the gas station. It looked defensible enough, but the fact that there was plywood over all the windows would mean they wouldn't have any advance warning of Walkers unless they took turns keeping watch outside. 

To his surprise, though, Merle shrugged.  "Depends," his brother said. 

He frowned again. "On what?"

He glanced back out over the lot, and in that instant, he realized what had been bothering him. Immediately, he felt like a moron. 

Merle had said he was camped out a mere five miles from their own campsite...but he'd driven at least fifteen, maybe closer to twenty before they'd gotten to this exit. There was no way in hell Merle had just casually walked from here to where he'd been hunting yesterday.

The implications of that clicked in his mind, cascading like dominoes.  Merle had lied to him. Merle had to have known where he was. Which meant Merle had been watching him before he'd shown himself. 

Most importantly, there was no way that Merle could have done all of that by himself. 

Merle's grin widened, his gaze fixed out on the road they had taken off the exit. Daryl tensed as the quiet of the lot was suddenly broken by the thrum of motors. 

"On that," Merle said, punching him in the shoulder again. Another truck, as old and rusted as Merle's, but without a camper top, appeared around the bend in the road. It was closely followed by a nondescript white sedan, and a third pickup truck--one of those dinky little Ford Rangers he and Merle always made fun of when they were kids. 

Merle slung his arm around his neck as the vehicles pulled into the lot, and the action somehow managed to feel both affectionate and warning. 

"Now, baby brother," Merle said softly, right in his ear, "we's gonna have some fun."


End file.
